


Delightful

by Guessimritingficsagain



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-24 00:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30064059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guessimritingficsagain/pseuds/Guessimritingficsagain
Summary: You'd met Javier Peña, and you'd watched as he made a mess of one of your co-workers. So maybe, you hated him a little.
Relationships: Javier Peña/Original Character(s), Javier Peña/Reader, Javier Peña/You
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

It’s not that you hated Javier Peña ( _Jesus,_ you wondered how many women thought that very same sentence everyday).

You had met him one busy night during your first week on the job. He’d been polite, had even introduced himself and explained :

‘I’m a regular, might as well know me by name.’

He’d even asked for yours. But the moment your co-worker Carla had stepped behind the counter he had completely _switched_ and had reduced her to a giggling mess in two minutes flat. She’d been putting a brave fight, though, she’d explained to you later. He’d been hitting on her for weeks but she’d resisted, afraid it would be a one night thing.

She had been wrong about that, because when she had finally given in, it had become a regular thing.

She had been wrong about that but had never stopped to ask herself if he’d wanted more than sex. When she’d asked him, though, she hadn’t liked the answer, not one bit. Except he hadn’t stopped coming in, even bringing some friends with him, some blonde dude who looked _really_ American and a woman - his wife, probably.

Try moving on when the guy you wanted to get serious with keeps showing you at your workplace.

So, Carla, yeah, she’d lost ten pounds, taken the day shift, and taken to call you at three in the morning to cry (you guessed she didn’t have that many friends because you certainly _weren’t_ friends with her but she called you anyway).

Which left you to work with Diego, and you _couldn’t stand Diego._

So, maybe, you hated Javier Peña a tiny bit.

And there he was, sitting on a barstool, nursing his second whiskey. The place was mostly empty, so you couldn’t avoid noticing how he kept frowning at the liquid like there was something wrong with it. You didn’t ask, though. You always kept your interactions polite and to the point.

After a while, you felt yourself distracted by the music, your actions more a force of habit, automatisms without any real thoughts behind them. You were brought back to the present, though, when Peña asked Diego how Carla was. And Diego being _Diego,_ answered, loud enough for you to wince :

‘ _Ah_. Fucking awful, if you ask me. Got fucked up by some dude. Poor girl looks like shit, now. Shame because she’s _fine_ and I’d fix her broken heart, if you know what I mean.’

Peña had the decency to look a bit remorseful but Diego, _oh, Diego kept going_ :

‘I offered, once, but she looked down on me. Now, though ? I bet she regrets…’

You slapped him with a tablecloth and got _real_ close into his personal space.

‘I swear if you finish that sentence I’m gonna make sure whatever’s down there can never get up again. You’re a _pig,_ Diego. You talk that big talk but you probably can do shit in bed so _stop._ I don’t need to hear it.’

‘ _Cállate, gringa_. That stick up your ass must be a real pain.’

And Peña, brave, nice, chivalrous Peña, had to speak up, of course :

‘The lady has a point. Carla was nice. Shit, she _is_ nice. I wanted to check on her, I don’t need to hear you gloat because she wouldn’t let you get some. Use your fucking right hand if you need to, but I don’t need to hear that shit.’

Diego’s face lost all previous friendliness when he turned back to Peña.

‘Whatever, man. But you know, stepping in for _the lady_ won’t get you to score with her.’

He stopped himself there, but you could tell that whatever was on the tip of his tongue would have been _really_ unpleasant to hear. Diego left the counter and went to do _whatever._ You didn’t care.

You should have stepped away and gone back to whatever it was you were doing before but Peña was looking at you and you had to deal with stuff like that on a _daily basis_ because Diego only ever talked about _women_ and _fucking them good_ and you had enough. So instead of choosing the smart option, you leaned in, hands on the counter, shoulders square, and explained :

‘I can handle myself. I don’t need you to do that, _especially_ considering you’re the one that fucked Carla all up.’

‘Listen, I’m sorry about that…’

‘I’m not the one you should be saying that to.’

‘I don’t need to talk to her. There’s nothing to say. It was a misunderstanding.’

He looked frustrated now. And if he were somebody else - anybody else besides _Diego -_ you’d stop giving him crap, because you _got_ it. Sometimes, people get into things, get into _sex_ and don’t stop thinking about the other’s expectations. The fact that Peña never took her to a fucking restaurant or shit should have been a warning in itself but he _could have_ made himself clear from the very beginning. Could have said it was all about making his dick wet.

But he didn’t, and now you were stuck with _Diego_ and annoying phone calls in the middle of the night. And you felt bad feeling that way about Carla, but you clearly hadn’t had time to really _connect_ and you weren’t a free shrink.

‘If you got nothing to say to her, then don’t come around _asking_ about her.’ You spat.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a tiny little voice mentioned that you were being _a tiny bit unfair_ but it was a fleeting thought that you shoved right back where it belonged : in your trashcan of denial.

Peña downed his drink, then, and got up, slapping money on the counter and said, all sarcasm but, you found, no _real_ bite behind it :

‘Thanks for a _delightful_ evening, my lady.’

You watched him walk away. Yeah, it wasn’t that you hated him.

———

You could see the appeal, you admitted to yourself one evening when Peña was there, sitting down with Connie and her husband _and_ another woman.

You hadn't got the other man’s name but Connie had come to you, one night, more than slightly buzzed and had chatted your ear off as you were making the drinks. You’d found her endearing so you’d asked for her name.

There was _no doubt_ that woman was getting into Peña’s bed and you hoped she wouldn’t end up like Carla, calling someone at three in the morning to sob about him. You hoped he’d taken his lesson and was straight with the women he had _encounters_ with.

You could see the appeal, the moustache and the too-tight jeans, and the way he slightly touched her shoulder, the way he gave her all of his attention, the way he laughed, eyes crinkled and that _fucking_ dimple.

It was a slow night, okay ? It was a slow night and you were _bored_.

‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer.’

You turned to see Emil smiling at you, and you playfully swatted his arm. He was a new addition to the team - and a welcome one, at that. Turned out that Diego had gotten into the habit of fucking women in the restroom and you had the privilege to catch him, once. What would have been a traumatizing experience became much more because your boss hadn’t caught the fact that you were going to the restroom and was following you to tell you something. So you’d seen Diego into action (and _that_ was never going in the trashcan of denial, no matter how hard you tried to shove it in there), but your boss, Ricardo, had seen too.

So, no more Diego.

You were _delighted._

Even more so when Ricardo had asked you to be part of the recruiting process. You had been surprised, at first, but he’d said :

‘I have three daughters, and I have two women who work for me, I don’t need men like Diego around.’

Very progressive, all in all. But you were glad.

Back to the moment, away from the image of Diego slamming into a woman (she had been faking, you knew, and telling him that right before he left had been _awesome_ ), you quipped back :

‘I don’t even like him, trust me, I’m just _bored._ ’

And that was only partially false. You _were_ bored, but not liking Peña was more of a force of habit than a real thing, now. Carla had found out she was pregnant - not _his_ \- so she had quit and, well, let’s just say you didn’t get angsty phone calls in the middle of the night anymore.

Peña walked right to the counter, then, and Emil, with what you’d just said, went to get the order but Peña was looking right at you and talking to you so you went with it. As you were handing the beers, you couldn’t help but ask :

‘She knows you’re gonna fuck her into oblivion but nothing more, right ?’

His eyebrows shot up, and the smirk on his face told you you’d just said the _wrong thing._

‘That confident in my abilities, heh ?’

You shook your head and deflected :

‘You know why I said that.’

He put the booze down, at that, and actually sat at the counter.

‘How’s the baby ?’

You jumped in surprise, at that, because you didn’t know he _knew_ and you’d never thought he would _care._ He picked up on that, too, because he scoffed :

‘Come on, I know you think I’m an asshole but Carla was _good_. She was nice. I keep tabs, that’s my job.’

‘Your job ?’ You couldn’t help but ask.

He played with one of the beers, then, thumb brushing one of the bottles up and down. You looked away, not liking one bit what was happening in your belly.

‘That’s a story for another time. When you like me, or at least tolerate me. I’ll get you there.’ 

He got up and walked away and you remembered

_You hated Javier Peña._

It didn’t sound quite genuine anymore, and you were fooling no one, given the look Emil shot your way after that, but you held onto that anyway.

———

Your parents had never approved of you moving to Colombia because _your Spanish is good, sweetheart, you don’t need to do that, you don’t need to make it perfect_ but you needed _out_ so you’d gone anyway.

Now, though, sitting in a room in the _DEA quarters,_ shaking, you weren’t so sure about your life choices.

You’d been getting home when you’d seen, turning a corner, a man pointing a gun at another, on his knees. You’d backed off immediately, you stupid brain not smart enough to get you to _run away._ You hadn’t seen anything, but you’d _heard._ And that had gotten you to the DEA.

You’d been stupid, really, because you’d heard the gunshot, you’d heard a car driving away but instead of taking a detour or _something,_ you’d looked. And the man lying there with his brain all over the pavement was _not_ going in the trashcan of denial anytime soon.

So, you were shaking, and the door opened and you _flinched_ and then you saw

_Javier fucking Peña_

‘I guess that answers that question about your job, then.’ You joked, but he didn’t bite.

He kneeled right in front of you instead, hands _everywhere,_ and that was _comforting_ , but the flow of questions was a bit overwhelming too.

_Did they see you ? Is there a chance they saw you ? Are you hurt ? Want some water ? Murphy, give me some fucking water right now !_

You tried telling him you were fine (you _weren’t_ ) but he kept fussing.

They brought you some water, you answered some questions, and at the end, the very end, when it was just Peña and you, he spat :

‘I can’t believe you go home every night on foot. Don’t do that. Stop. I swear if I have to come get you every night …’

‘I’ll be fine. It’s fine. I’ll get someone.’

You were lying : you lived stupidly close to the bar, so it didn’t make sense to drive there. And even with what had happened, it still didn’t make sense to do it. So you lied.

Then you got a few days off, _doctor’s orders,_ and when you came back to work, that first night, as you were ready to head back home _on foot_ as always, Javier Peña was waiting outside the bar. Before you could say anything, before you would find a way out, he declared :

‘Get in the car. I’m taking you home.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You fuck up with Javier.

You were both silent in the car, except for the indications you occasionally gave him. Except you hadn’t been lying about the fact that you lived very close to the bar : the whole ride lasted about two minutes.

That didn’t deter Peña, though, who kept showing up when he could, and when he couldn’t he just sent someone else. Steve Murphy (you’d finally learnt his name) looked _very happy_ to have to come here at two in the morning for a _two-minute drive._

‘Is he bribing you ?’ You asked him once.

‘He’s doing all my paperwork for three months.’ He answered with good humour.

Which, _shit,_ that wasn’t the answer you’d expected. It’d probably shown, because Steve softened and added :

‘Indulge him. He’s seen some shit, people he knew at the wrong place at the wrong time. He cares a lot.’

You nodded.

Next night was a slow one, and when a costumer, a really _good looking one_ at that, got really flirty with you, you flirted right back - well, to the best of your abilities anyway, you were more than rusty in that department. It seemed to be enough for the guy, who clearly wanted to take you home. You were _not_ opposed to that. Not at all. Except that when you closed shop, Peña was waiting there. You asked the guy to give you a minute and went to him.

‘I have a ride, tonight.’ You explained.

His eyes went to the guy and his eyebrows shot up. His answer was not one you’d expected.

‘Really ? _That’s_ your type ?’

‘My type is not what this is about. He’s taking me home.’

Peña took his time assessing your ‘ride’, and the latter was obviously growing more confused, and, to your frustration, deterred by the situation as the seconds went by.

‘Peña.’ You snapped. That got his attention back to you, a thumb touching his lower lips pensively, a hand on his hip. After a moment of thinking, he conceded :

‘Yeah. Yeah, okay.’

You thought he was going to leave it at that but he didn’t. _Of course he didn’t._

‘Didn’t think you were the missionary type, is all.’

And _that,_ that undid you. Because though Peña had been a pain in the ass from day one, Peña had also been helpful, and caring, and you didn’t know what it was about him that got under your skin like that but _one_ thing was sure : you weren’t friends. Two-minute drives three times a week didn’t count as _bonding_ and him sitting on a stool, silent, until you closed the bar didn’t count as that either. He had no _right_ to get this familiar with you. So you sneered :

‘You’re an asshole.’

He shrugged and lit a cigarette :

‘So I’ve been told.’

You turned around and walked to that guy you didn’t even remember the name of and hated yourself for listening closely to the sound of Peña’s car leaving.

The worst part of it all, though : Peña’d been right. The dude was boring and the sex, mediocre. So, out of spite, you didn’t tell Peña you were on holiday the next week. And holidays meant going out for drinks with friends, in a bar that was not were your worked. So you did just that. And you had a _wonderful_ night, that first day off, and you got _really drunk_.

You woke up at 12 to someone _pounding_ at your door like they were trying to kick it down. Still in your clothes from last night, a nice dress you didn’t like to wear at work because it drove you some unwanted attention but _liked_ just for yourself, you opened the door to see Javier Peña _fuming_ and _angry._

‘Why the _fuck_ didn’t you tell me you were on holiday ?’

Your head was aching, and you weren’t in the mood because you needed some water into your system before you could face anything but he didn’t let you answer anyway and kept going :

‘I fucking showed up and you weren’t there. Drove here and you didn’t answer. Came again this morning and you didn’t answer either. _What the fuck are you thinking ?_ ’

You weren’t in the mood. You were hungover, you needed some water and maybe something greasy, and you _weren’t in the mood._

‘I don’t need you to baby-sit me, I’m pretty sure that if someone had wanted to kill me they’d have done it in the _month and a half_ you’ve been monitoring everything I do.’ You spat.

Later, you’d recognize you’d been unfair. You’d remember Steve’s words. Later, you’d realized you’d talked with the assurance of someone who doesn’t _know_ what it’s like. Who doesn’t know anything about anything, even though you _should_ know better because what got you there in the first place was seeing a man’s brain all over the concrete.

Peña din’t say a word. He turned back, and left. You didn’t see him for a _long_ time after that.

———

Steve kept picking you up, from time to time, the bags under his eyes heavier every time you saw him. On a Sunday, he showed up in the clothes you’d seen him wear _three_ days before, and he showed up at the _beginning_ of your shift. He asked for a whisky and

‘Keep ‘em coming.’

‘What’s wrong ?’

He didn’t answer right away, instead shooting a _hey man_ without heart at Emil, who answered with a little more energy, even though his little girl had kept him up all night the day before. Okay, _the night of the living dead,_ then. Good thing you liked that movie.

When Emil got to the kitchen and with no costumer in sight, Steve finally asked :

‘You know what I did, on Friday ?’

You shook your head, suddenly on edge because of the tone of his voice. There was something _breaking_ there. Then, with false casualty, he offered :

‘I beat the shit out of a dude just because he was snorting coke in an airport’s bathroom.’

You stopped everything.

‘Why are you telling me this ?’

You didn’t like the way your voice wavered, but the question was _genuine._ There were supposed to be _boundaries._

‘Because Connie’s gone back to the fucking States and I heard bartenders were the best shrinks.’ He answered, downing his drink and motioning for another. You wondered if this was wise, letting him drink. But you figured you weren’t his mother, you figured he needed that. You figured you hadn’t seen your friends in _forever,_ so much that Steve Murphy was starting to look like one.

You found a middle ground and settled, pouring him another whisky :

‘You’re not driving me home, tonight. But you’re crashing on my couch.’

Steve hummed in answer.

Later, when he had his arm around your shoulder to steady himself, laughing way too hard at a joke that really wasn’t that funny, you wondered at the irony of the situation : the state he was in, the man supposedly there to protect you was probably more like to shoot himself in the foot trying to aim at someone. When you voiced the thought, Steve barked a laugh :

‘I don’t even have my fucking gun with me, right now.’

And :

‘That reminds me. You fucked him ? Peña ? That’s why he won’t come anymore ?’

‘Fuck you, Murphy. I didn’t.’

He went silent for a while, let go of your shoulder to turn and look at you, feet unsteady. He would have been a funny looking sight if you hadn’t known what had gotten him in the state in the first place.

‘You know why I do this ?’ He asked, the very picture of seriousness. ‘This, I mean.’ He clarified, a finger waving from him to you.

You shook your head. He stopped walking, raised a finger, and, an air of gravity and wisdom about him that made you laughed because he _burped_.

‘I do this because it helps Peña sleep at night. So, in the morning, he’s not so grumpy. And he doesn’t drink _all of the coffee._ Because that coffee is shit, and it makes him grumpier. Seriously, that fucking DEA coffee …’

He started walking again, but you were kind of frozen. You knew you’d been unfair to him, but never stopped to think Peña had cared enough to potentially ask Steve to keep coming to get you. It’d been _months,_ after all, since what you called _The Incident_ just so you didn’t call it _The Image you still dreamt about every other night and probably would for the rest of your life_ or _The Image that popped up at random times during the day and reduced you to a shaking mess._

‘You comin’ ?’ Steve asked.

You jogged up to him.

‘That was a long time ago, why do you keep coming ?’

‘We identified the guy. Javi doesn’t wanna stop this until we catch him him or, you know, pull a bullet in him. Never too safe.’

_Fuck._

After a beat, Steve added :

‘Though, I _am_ pretty useless right now, right ? Considering I’m _completely shit-faced._ ’

He laughed again and, a few minutes later, dropped on your couch and started snoring.

———

The place was _really_ busy, so you didn’t have time to think about the fact that Javier Peña was sitting in a booth with Murphy, or the fact that maybe you owed him an apology.

Steve had gotten the first round. You were _not_ watching if they needed a new one. No. You weren’t. You had _not_ been wondering if Peña was going to get the second one. _No._

He did. He got the second one. And he came straight to you. You gave him the beers, tongue-tied now that you had a chance to speak. You hated yourself, in that moment, but you as he was beginning to turn around, you let yourself go :

‘I’m sorry.’ You mumbled, grabbing his forearm.

He was looking at you, silent.

‘I’m _sorry._ ’ You repeated, more strongly, squeezing his forearm.

He looked at you for a bit, sighed quietly and answered :

‘It’s okay.’

‘But it’s not.’ You shot back immediately. ‘You’re… You’re insufferable. And I felt like I could’t do _anything_ on my own. But _you_ know the risks. I don’t. You were trying to protect me, and I was a bitch about it.’

He put down the beers at that, and sat down.

‘I’ve seen people I care about get fucked because they were here at the wrong place at the wrong time. But here’s one thing I don’t wanna hear.’ He said. ‘I don’t wanna hear that my favorite bartender has been killed because she was at the wrong place at the wrong time.’

He’d kept his voice light but you could feel how heavy the words were.

‘I’m sorry.’ You said again. Because that was all you could think of.

———

Peña started showing up at the bar again. When he did, he usually waited until you closed to walk you home. It wasn’t often, once every two weeks, but you _liked_ it.

You were worried, though, because now that you _knew_ what he did for a living, him not showing up _could_ mean something had gone wrong. You’d never called Steve to ask.

One day, he _did_ show up. It was late, you were dealing with some drunk asshole who couldn’t understand the word _no._ He put an end to the whole thing when he just sat down and asked :

‘Can you get me a shot of that good whiskey, _babe_?’

That was enough to get the man off your back, and you were so relieved to see him you didn’t say anything. And then, the _babe_ incident became a _thing._

_Give me a whisky, but not the crappy one, babe._

_Yeah, I had a shitty day. You don’t wanna know about it, babe._

_We need to put a second lock on your door. That neighborhood is shit, babe._

And, on one memorable moment,

_I heard from Steve that your couch is a delight. I’m jealous I never got to try it. Mind if I use it tonight ? I’m fucking exhausted, and you don’t live exactly close to my place, babe._

You should have said something, but Peña was talking to you more and more, and you found that you kinda liked him, so you let him call you that. You also let him crash on your couch whenever he felt like it.

Which meant, all in all, that your couch was rarely unoccupied. You’d even finally gotten them toothbrushes, as months went by, a green one for Steve and a pink one for Javier. The latter had tensed when you told him, and you knew that wasn’t because of the color.

_That man and his fear of commitment to anything._

One evening, as you were making a cocktail, the movements a force of habit, you heard a _very_ familiar voice say :

‘So, this is where you’ve been hiding all this time ?’

You turned to see your friend Nick, standing on the other side of the counter. Nick and you had been friends for a _long_ time, the type of friends that never really lose touch with each other, the type of friends you can call anytime. You finished what you were doing in a hurry (and maybe screwed up a bit on the alcohol but you figured the costumer would be happy to get some more than intended) and circled the counter to hug him.

You spent the evening catching up whenever you had time to spare. Nick was here on a business trip, and had asked your parents where you worked. He _had_ a place to stay, but that didn’t prevent Javier from saying :

‘So, he’s taking you home tonight I guess.’

He was, in a way. You’d both agreed it would be nice to spend the rest of the night at your place to catch up. You answered :

‘Men and women can be just friends, you know.’

‘Not in my opinion.’

His answer stung. So you pushed, because the trashcan of denial was just that _big_ :

‘Yeah, what about us ?’

His eyes were dark, heavy with _something,_ as he answered :

‘Yeah, what about us, babe ?’

You’d known for a while you didn’t quite _hate_ Javier Peña, but what you felt then, that was _new._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings : heavy drinking
> 
> Author’s note : This is going to be longer than I expected.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time goes by. Shit happens. Things evolve.

Things came and went, time passing like a blur. You would say you’d known Steve and Peña for a long time now, long enough to see Connie come back.

You were glad when you threw Steve's toothbrush in the trashcan after getting a phone call from her, her voice soft on the other side of the line, _thanking you._ You thought the gesture unnecessary, with the way both Murphy and Peña had wormed their way into your life in a somehow improbable manner.

You’d had to have a talk with your boss about that, by the way, with him asking bluntly if he should expect to find you getting it on with someone in the restroom too. You’d come clean, and had explained what you’d seen _that_ night, and what had followed. He’d softened, then, a hand on you shoulder, and he had murmured :

‘Don’t keep shit like that to yourself. You can talk to me.’

Both Steve and Peña had questioned why they’d gotten a drink on the house, after that.

‘Boss’s orders.’ Was all you’d offered.

You didn’t see them, those days, though. You gathered that with their work, that was bound to happen, and you tried to not let it get to your head. Besides, Nick was back, yet on another business trip, so you two kept busy. You brought him along to a screening of _Batman Returns,_ despite his protests (and there were _many_ ). He was a no-nonsense kind of guy, so seeing you excited to see a movie about a man who dressed like a freaking bat and some characters with animal-related names left him incredulous.

‘I mean what the hell, _Catwoman_?? The _Penguin ???_ What kind of names are those ?’

‘Come on, Nick, it’s Batman. The first one with Nicholson was so good, remember ?’

‘Never saw it.’

‘ _What ?_ ’

He came with you anyway because he was that good of a friend. In the end, he didn’t find the movie that awful, but explained those were his thing anyway.

‘A guy called Penguin coming in a restaurant on a boat shaped like a rubber duck, that’s a bit too much for me.’ He laughed.

He walked you home.

‘You sure you don’t want to take the couch ?’ You asked when yo got to your place.

‘Nah. I’ll take a cab. The company’s paying for my room. I might as well use it.’

You went to bed thinking it had been a _good_ day off.

You’d been woken up by someone pounding on your door. Figuring it was Peña, you got to it grumbling. The sight you encountered opening the door stopped you, though, because he looked like _shit._

He came in before you could say anything, fished for a bottle of whisky he’d stashed here at some point because you didn’t drink whisky, and drank directly from the bottle.

‘Are you alright ?’

‘You don’t wanna know.’

He said that sentence a lot. _You don’t wanna know._ Right now, though, you felt like you _had_ to know.

‘Talk to me.’

He was staring stubbornly at the wall, not even sitting down but rather leaning on your kitchen table. Why was he here, you wondered, if he wouldn’t even talk ? You allowed yourself to admire his profile for a second because it was a _sight_ , you’d always thought it was, before taking a step towards him. You repeated :

‘ _Talk to me._ ’

‘Oh, you wanna know ?’

He turned his head sharply and the dark look on his face pinned you where you stood. You had a feeling, suddenly, that you _didn’t_ want to know. He put the bottle down and started walking towards you, explaining :

‘We got set up and someone died. Seven bullets to the head. Courtesy of Pablo Escobar. And that dude ? That dude was fucked up. Shot a kid in the head, once, right in front of me. But now he’s fucking dead and I was the one who fucking screwed up because some pretty woman fed me some shit and he’s _dead.’_

Okay so maybe you were wrong thinking you had to know. Sometimes, you forgot how different Steve and Peña’s lives were from yours. They never really talked about it anyway. But right now, with Peña all but looming right over you, you were getting a glimpse of it and it wasn’t pretty. You scolded yourself, because you _had_ seen some shit, once, and it had messed you up. You still were figuring out how to go back to normal. Hell, you weren’t even sure you could. You didn’t know why you were supposed to answer to _that_ so you settled for :

‘Why are you here ?’

His laugh was bitter when he answered :

‘Well, I thought about fucking someone to let it all out but …’

You bristled at that and, not even letting him finish, snapped :

‘I’m not fucking you, Peña.’

You could see _that_ pissed him off. He snapped back, as his hand went to your throat, not threatening in the least, the hold loose, thumb on your jaw, the whole thing feeling oddly _possessive_ :

‘Why do you have to be so fucking _difficult_ all the time ? I’m pretty sure I couldn’t get it up for some lady with nice tits right now because some lady with nice tits got me there in the first place. I’m not here to fuck you. Thought about going to a place I know, but turns out I don’t feel like fucking anyone right now.’

You internally winced at that : Steve had occasionally made some reference to Peña being a flirt and some kind of _serial fucker_ but you liked not to think about it too much. The man himself never spoke about it, and even Steve had admitted once, telling you a story about that, how Peña had grown a bit sheepish when the both of them had to go to a brothel he knew. But, even if you would usually prefer not to know, the question was out of your mouth before you could stop yourself :

‘You fucked her ?’

His thumb pressed into your jaw at that, and his answer was a firm _no._

Once again, you couldn’t help yourself :

‘Thank fuck for for that.’

He hummed, eyes a bit lost for a second, and whispered back :

‘Thank fuck for that.’

He came back to you when you put both hands on his shoulders and took a step closer, almost pressing your bodies together. His other hand went to your back, not bringing you closer but just _staying_ there. His forehead gently landed against your temple as he took a deep breath.

‘I’m sorry.’ You stated, guilt tying knots in your belly.

You said that a lot, at least you said that a lot to him. You always _assumed_ when it came to Peña, but both Steve and him were blunt enough to correct you when needed. As it turned out, you needed to be corrected _a lot._ So you were truly sorry, sorry for the loss of this person who died of course, but also sorry you assumed Peña was here with a prior, dirty, boundary-crossing motive. The only answer he gave you was a brush of his thumb against your jaw so you asked :

‘What do you need ?’

The hand on your back moved a bit, then, pressing you a bit closer, your bodies untangled but not quite hugging.

‘You know I’m not sold on that idea that men and women can be friends.’ He started.

You felt like joking, and you let yourself :

‘Yeah, because you can’t see a woman without thinking about getting your dick wet.’

Your own laugh sounded a bit unconvincing, mostly because you were in uncharted waters : just as he’d never talked about how much of a womanizer he was, you’d never mentioned it either. He humored you, allowed it, though his thumb moved right below your ear and _pressed_ there, as he whispered, his breath hot on your temple :

‘Yeah. Fair enough. But I need a friend, right now.’

You felt like you were tiptoeing on the _line_ now, because he was asking to be friends but you knew of his record with women, you knew his gestures were far too intimate to stay into the safe space of _friendship_ and you were acutely aware of how your body was reacting, _right now_ , to said gestures. But if there was ever going to be a time to address that - and you weren’t sure you wanted to, mostly because of _his record with women_ \- that time wasn’t _now._ So you offered him your couch instead.

You went back to your own bed, even though you knew you wouldn’t sleep, feeling guilty for how _needy_ you were right now, as Peña was sleeping on your couch. You _didn’t_ want to touch yourself because it felt _indecent,_ but your mind kept going back to those moments when Peña’s thumb had pressed into you skin.

_Javier,_ you thought.

_Javier,_ you allowed yourself to think.

You came quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Batman Returns WAS released in 1992 in Colombia. I'm a nerd.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javier is here when you wake up. Then he's gone, for more than a year.

You woke up expecting him gone, as always, but walked into the kitchen to the smell of coffee. Peña was sitting on the couch, a cup in hand.

‘Still here ?’

Your voice was hoarse with sleep, so you went to get a cup of water. He got up and followed you, pouring you a mug of coffee and handing it to you.

‘Yeah. Thought I’d stick around, to thank you.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘Yes, babe, I do.’

He was chewing his bottom lip. You turned around. He was standing further than yesterday, a small fact for which you were glad, you mind briefly going back to that moment in bed. The shame didn’t sting as much. He looked better than the night before, even with his shirt crumpled and his hair all over the place. You never got to see him like this, you realized.

‘Listen,’ he continued ‘what I told you last night … I shouldn’t have said it. You don’t need to know about that shit.’

‘It’s okay, Javier.’

You held his gaze for a while before turning to look at your living room. You wondered if he was still looking at you. You felt like he was. You longed to know if he wanted to lean in and brush his lips on your neck as much as you wanted him to. To regain your focus, to prevent the feeling from _drowning_ you, you asked the exact opposite of what was on your mind :

‘We’re friends, right ?’

You heard the mug being set down on the counter and felt Javier shift, get closer.

‘Well, you did _finally_ learn my first name.’ He whispered, his breath hot on the side of your face. His torso was pressed on your shoulder now, and, just like last night, you regretted asking, not for the same reasons though.

Now that you were on the edge, you weren’t quite so sure you want to take the leap. He made the decision for you, anyway :

‘Yeah, you got me there, babe. We’re friends.’

You turned your head sharply at that, and found him close, closer than you’d ever been. His hand came to your shoulder, eyes heavy, and his thumb settled right there, on your naked skin. He kept going, seemingly unbothered, and leaned in :

‘If that’s what you want to be.’

He pressed a kiss to your temple then, as you grabbed one of his forearms like a lifeline. His moustache was soft against your skin and you wanted to stay in that moment forever. You were ready to take that leap, now, you realized. Your hand was about to move to his elbow to bring him _closer_ when he whispered, lips still against your skin :

‘It’s better like that anyway.’

He gently took your hand, removed it from where it was grasping, and you let it fall at your side as you watched Javier Peña take his pack of cigarettes on the counter, light one, and announce :

‘See you around, babe.’

You didn’t see him for a year and then some, after that.

———

The bookshop was a quiet, nice little place where you sometimes lost yourself during the day when things in your mind got blurry. You’d found yourself here more and more, those days. You knew from Connie that things _at work_ were insane, but you felt hurt by Peña’s silence. You hadn’t seen him, spoken to him, in six months.

You picked up a book you’d seen on those shelves countless times, in the English section, _Women Who Run With the Wolves,_ and started reading random paragraphs here and there, when a voice interrupted :

‘It’s a good one, you should give it a shot.’

A man was standing there, at a respectable distance, a shy look on his face. You took a second to properly take him in : he cleaned up nice, was a _gringo,_ obviously. Unsettled by your scrutiny, he put a hand through his blonde hair and explained :

‘I’ve seen you around before, and I’ve noticed we share some readings in common. So I thought I’d tell you about that one.’

‘You work here ?’ You asked.

‘No,’ he shook his head, ‘but I’m around a lot.’

You inspected him a bit more, trying to remember him - if he’d seen you around, you’d seen him around, obviously. Something was indeed vaguely familiar about him, so you took the bait, thinking _what the hell :_

‘Okay, so what’s it about ?’

He had some interesting things to say about it, and he spoke in a pleasant voice. You could tell he was used to talking to people, maybe in a professional way too : he had some kind of teacher thing going for him. When you asked, he confirmed : English teacher at university.

You crossed paths, after that, always falling in nice, uncomplicated conversations. Your mind supplied, once, as James was talking about his last class, that this man wouldn’t come home to tell you of colleague of his had died on the job. Your thoughts went to Peña, then, about the deafening silence, about what you saw on the news everyday.

_What the hell,_ you thought again.

So when James asked you out for coffee, you said yes.

You settled into some kind of routine. It was nice, _grounding,_ a good contrast to what was going on in the country. You’d still wake up, sometimes during the night, thinking _Javier_ but you never picked up the phone to ask Steve or Connie, even though you grew more and more worried. You put all of that in the trashcan of denial, instead. Up until the day Pablo Escobar died.

You picked up the phone, that day, hands shaking and heart pounding and dialed Steve’s number. The second you heard him say

‘Murphy.’

You asked :

‘Javier, is he okay ?’

A silence, and then

‘They sent him back home.’

_They sent him back home._

You felt cold. You felt lost. And then you felt _nothing_.

_———_

You woke up to someone pounding at your door, and _that_ hadn’t happened for a long time. James, laying right next to you, startled awake and whispered :

‘Sweetheart, what’s going on ?’

You got up immediately, answering _it’s fine_ without meaning it because with both Steve and Javier gone from the country you had no idea who was on the other side of that door. You put some clothes on, turning the light of the living room as you walked to the door and opened it carefully.

Javier Peña was standing there, and like he hand’t been gone for more than a year, like you hand’t called Steve like a fucking _grieving widow_ after months of silence to hear Javier was back in the States, he asked :

‘Your couch is available ?’

You said yes, because you could never say no to Javier. James came out of the bedroom as Javier came in, wondering :

‘What is it, sweetheart ?’

His eyes were moving from Javier to you. You explained :

‘An old friend. He needs to sleep here. Go back to bed.’

Javier stood eerily still for a second, then extended his hand for James to shake. As they greeted each other, you went to make the couch, hands slightly shaking.

You let Javier settle on the couch, you let him reach your leg and squeeze it. You let him say :

‘I’m sorry.’

He knew that wouldn’t cut it. You let him have this moment of peace, though. You put a hand in his hair. You let go, eventually. Javier Peña was a thing of the past. You had something good going on, now.

Except he wasn’t a thing of the past, not anymore. He’d show up to sleep on your couch once in a while and you had to buy him a new toothbrush (you remembered how long it took you to throw the old one in the trashcan).

But, along with his toothbrush, you’d put Javier one the trashcan of denial, and now the lid was threatening to fly open. James had no problem with that mysterious man suddenly back into your life, even when he stopped by in the morning to bring you breakfast and found Javier here. When you finally had the courage to bring it up, he just explained _I trust you._ He was right to trust you, but you had some serious unpacking to do, some things to settle in yourself, and you didn’t want to.

Javier started showing up at the bar again, but you didn’t talk. That silence, that now defined your relationship, also put it in some kind of grey area, a neutral zone full of respectful distances and words about to burst but always contained. You didn’t exactly _like_ it, but it was reassuring. You didn’t _long_ for him the way you used to, because worry and anger had taken to much space in your non-relationship. It’s been easy to get angry, once you’d learnt Javier had been back for a while before he came to see you. You’d reasoned he didn’t care that much, after all. You’d allowed yourself to feel betrayed, even though that tiny voice always whispered you were being unfair, much like it had been whispering that at the beginning of your relationship with him.

Everything must come to an end, though, even grey areas and unspoken agreement to _never speak._ It came unexpectedly, as one evening, James and his coworkers came by for a few drinks. Those nights were always nice because his friends were sweet and James always kissed you softly every time he came to order drinks. Usually, you didn’t like showing affection in public, but in those moments, you found you liked it. This night, in this _bubble_ of _you and him_ , you could allow yourself to pretend Javier Peña wasn’t worming his way into your relationship. Right then, you could pretend you didn’t think about him _too much._ You could swallow down the _guilt_ you felt because James hadn’t a jealous bone in his body while you sometimes thought things you shouldn’t be thinking. The only thing you’d been willing to unpack so far was what you felt about James. You knew you loved him. You’d said it before. You loved him in a quiet, tranquil way, not at all in the way you felt about Javier. But you loved him.

Javier sat down at the counter at some point during the night. You gave him a whisky, trying not to think too hard about the fact that this was the first time James and him were here at the same time, and then scolding yourself because there was nothing to be guilty of. James would still come to the counter to order something, he’d still kiss you, and Javier would still sit there in silence.

Except that didn’t happen : when you took your break, Javier followed you, and, as you were lighting your cigarette, one in his mouth already, he decided to leave the grey area, and the trashcan of denial too.

‘I’m sorry I left like that, babe. After the last time we spoke, things went to shit and I didn’t want to involve you, in any way. I did some _questionable_ things, but they got the job done. I’m sorry I never called, though. They sent me back and I just didn’t know what to do with myself.’

Even though you had taken a deep breath and had convinced yourself you were going to be _put together_ , especially because he’d chosen the night _James was in the bar_ to tell you this, you broke :

‘I thought you were _dead._ I had to call Steve. I thought about going to the DEA’s office to ask …’

You weren’t quite crying but your your voice was _longing._ Javier brought a hand to the back of your neck, bringing you closer. He whispered in your hair :

‘I’m so sorry, babe. Never meant to leave you like that. I thought a clean break was better than some phone call once in a while. We’ve seen some shit together, and I just felt it’d be a mercy to let you get on with your life. Murphy called me on my bullshit, though. You’ve been so _good_ to me, but I wasn’t sure you wanted me back into your life.’

You could tell he felt uncomfortable saying all of this. He never spoke that much. You couldn’t identify exactly what you were feeling but you could feel the wave of _all of it_ coming crashing down on you.

Your fingers found his shirt and _grabbed_ it, You started crying, then, because Javier was _back_.

———

You should have seen it coming but you didn’t. A month and a half later, while he was having a beer at your place, James announced :

‘We need to talk.’

And that took you by surprise (once again, it shouldn’t have). You’d came back to the counter that day with red eyes and had had to take a trip to the bathroom to fix yourself up. James never mentioned it but you blamed yourself for thinking he hadn’t _seen_ it. But Javier had left right after your little talk so you’d convinced yourself the usual, comfortable bubble was back. And James never brought it up. Until this moment, you guessed.

You put the beer down, as he said :

‘I’m not Javier Peña.’

Your world tilted at that, a mix of _shit_ and _fuck_ and _this is not what you think_ going through your head. James beat you to it, though :

‘I know nothing happened. You’re too good for that. But I heard you that day.’

Something clicked in your mind, something you’d overlooked because you’d been so caught up in _Javier Peña_ you’d forgotten about that little detail. James explained, anyway :

‘Usually, when you take a break and I’m at the bar, I come with you. But _he_ was there first. I didn’t mean to listen but … He called you babe, and you let him, and he grabbed you by the neck and you let him even though you won’t let me take your hand in public because you hate that kind of shit. I heard he’s DEA. I’m not DEA, shit …’

His laugh was bitter as he went on :

‘It’s not that I’m not Javier Peña. I’m the _opposite_ of Javier Peña. I love you, and I know you love me. And I could keep going like that with you because I could settle. I don’t mind being the second choice. But you I know you, you can’t settle, not with him back. I _know_ you. You never really told me about him but it’s obvious. We got a nice thing going, but, if I asked you to marry me …’

You found your tongue, at that point, and urgently asked, the dread filling you almost overwhelming :

‘Were you planning on ?’

‘Before Peña, yes. I thought you were it, for me. But now, I know you’d say no.’

You wanted to prove him wrong so bad, you wanted to say that Javier was just an old friend but James read you better than almost anyone. So he kissed you on the cheek, took his stuff, and left.

Javier, of course, came by a few days later, noticed James’ toothbrush gone and asked :

‘What happened ?’

You answered :

‘Life.’

Because you couldn’t answe _r ‘you’._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in terms of timeline let's say that Reader didn't see Javier from the day after Carrillo died to a few months after he came back to Colombia. 
> 
> Thanks for the kudos !!

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wanted to write an 'enemy to lovers' for Frankie Morales but that's reeeeally not working so I went with Javier instead.


End file.
